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His words are clipped. “Sounds like a blast.”
“That it was. But enough about my fun times. Gotta get to the bus stop.” I take off, setting a fast-paced walk.
His heavy footsteps trail me. “Seem to be walkin’ pretty well for somebody who got fucked by so many men last night.” A moment later, he falls into step beside me, and the weight of his gaze is heavy, inspecting.
“You’re makin’ it weird, Danny.”
“It’s Daniel.”
“Still don’t care.”
We advance a few more feet before drawing to a stop to wait for passing cars. The sudden touch of his fingers as he snags my wrist catches me by surprise, because it’s not like his previous tight, punishing hold. This one possesses an odd sort of gentleness.
I go still but refuse to look at him.
“Mac.” His voice is deep and husky. “Somethin’s wrong.”
Dammit. I draw in a deep breath before exhaling, still avoiding his gaze. “Can we not do this right now? It’s been a shit morning, and I can’t be late for my appointment.”
His thumb makes short sweeping strokes along my wrist, the weight of his eyes heavy on me. “You’re gonna tell me, though.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, and any other time, I’d hand him his ass. But right now, my mind is a landmine, and I need to prepare for my appointment.
It takes no time for us to reach the bus stop, and I’m torn between relief when he pulls out his phone to scan his own bus pass and disappointment he was smart enough to do so. I chalk up the former to simply feeling more vulnerable today than usual. Plus, I’ve never had someone accompany me to one of my appointments.
This is the closest I’ll probably ever get to experiencing what it might be like to have someone care about me.
We slide into two available seats near the middle of the bus, and I take the window seat. Daniel remains quiet as the bus lurches to a start, pulling away from the curb. I stare out the window at the passing scenery, a whirlwind of thoughts plaguing my mind.
Will I ever regain my memories?
What if something worse had happened to me during my sleepwalking?
Will today’s therapy be the one that finally breaks through and helps eliminate my blackout headaches?
“I like your hair down.”
The muted, husky words skate over me, and it takes a moment to draw me from my troubled thoughts.
I turn to peer at him from beneath my dark sunglasses. Piercing eyes study me with an intensity that has unease battering away at me. It’s likely why I resort to deflection and I return my attention to the window. “It’s because it hides my—”
Strong fingers beneath my chin catch me by surprise, steering me back to face him. “No.” One word, spoken so fiercely, causes my breath to catch in my throat. “That’s not it.” Releasing my chin, he lifts my frames up before I can react, and my stomach maws open sickly.
Eyes narrowing dangerously, they sweep over my face, specifically my right eye, before pinning me in place with their own silent demand.
“Who the fuck did this to you?” His words are lethally sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly I fear for the condition of his molars.
“Nobody.” His gaze turns arctic with disbelief, and I rush on to add, “I fell and hit a rock.” I think.
His stare rakes over me, giving me the impression he’s privy to my thoughts, and I force myself not to flinch beneath his survey. “Where?”
“In the yard. I…sometimes sleepwalk.”
Something flickers across his face, but it disappears before I can decipher it. “So that’s how you scraped your hands.” He doesn’t pose this as a question but as a statement, and I shrug in lieu of answering and slide my glasses down once again.
After I shift to peer out my window, a long moment of silence follows before he leans toward me. His nearness elicits an electrifying sensation that ricochets through me, just as his voice reaches my ears.
His tone possesses a ruthless, forbidding quality. “Still hidin’ somethin’, though. And I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”
37
